


Whipping Post

by wingedcatninja



Category: Supernatural
Genre: BDSM, Bondage, Cock Cage, F/M, Femdom, Flogging, Impact Play, Orgasm Denial, Smut-adjacent, Sub Dean, Sub!Dean, Submissive Dean Winchester, Suspension, male chastity, sub-space
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-13
Updated: 2019-12-13
Packaged: 2021-02-26 03:28:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21776794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wingedcatninja/pseuds/wingedcatninja
Summary: Dean needs to give up control for a while. Pain purifies.
Relationships: Dean Winchester/Original Female Character(s), Dean Winchester/Unnamed Female Character, Dean Winchester/You
Comments: 2
Kudos: 33





	Whipping Post

**Author's Note:**

> I was supposed to be working on something completely different, but I was watching [this video on YouTube](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=y0UjmlczRbQ) when the fic hit me in the head like a ton of bricks. In case you would rather not watch the whole video, it’s based on the song Whipping Post that Jensen likes to sing at SNS. The female character might be you, the reader, or it might be someone else. It’s written in 3rd person POV, so it can be whatever you want. 
> 
> I apologize for nothing.

The leather suspension cuffs fit snugly on Dean’s wrists, almost as if they were a part of his body. At her command, he raised his arms above his head to let her attach the cuffs to the hook at the top of the post. She had to stand on a stool to reach. Dean stood on a small wooden box, like a step. When she removed it, his toes barely brushed the floor. 

The wooden post felt smooth against his back; the thought flitted through his mind unbidden. She watched him while he adjusted to the position. It took him a moment to stop struggling for his feet to connect with the floor and give in to her will. When he finally relaxed and let the cuffs carry his weight, she nodded and gave his hip a gentle pat. 

“Good boy.” She said it in passing, acknowledging his surrender as something inevitable and natural. 

Dean leaned his head back against the post, closing his eyes. He could still hear her moving around him; her heels on the floor, the whisper of leather on wood when she picked up what she intended to use on him, her breath, the soft rustle of her clothing when she moved. He let the sounds wash over him, let himself accept his own vulnerability. She was in control. All he had to do was be there, do as he was told, and accept whatever she wanted to do to him. Trust her. He felt his breathing slow, felt his muscles relax.

When her fingers touched him, his only reaction was a soft sigh. She dragged them across his chest, nails scraping lightly, leaving barely visible marks on his skin. Starting to move down his side, counting his ribs, she brought her other hand closer. The soft leather strands caressed his thigh, tickled across his cock and balls. He felt his skin pebble. 

Her touch vanished, leaving him wanting more. A small whine escaped him before he could bite it back. Her silence was maddening. He longed to hear her voice, to hear her say his name. Deep breath. Accept. Endure. 

The next time the flogger connected with his flesh, it was no longer a caress. The many tails fell across his chest, the ends stinging his skin and leaving a wide area of heat behind. The stroke pushed a soft grunt from Dean’s chest. He felt it in his throat like a physical thing, scratching the tender tissue when it passed through. 

Dean could tell she was starting slowly. Somehow, she knew that was what he needed. A slow build-up to the pain. Behind his closed eyes, he imagined her painting his chest and belly red with stroke after stroke of the flogger. Warming him up. Tenderizing his flesh in preparation for what was to come. There was nothing he could do to stop the grunts she drew from him with each stroke. 

She worked her way from his chest and down across his belly. She ignored his groin in favor of working his thighs over. When she reached his knees, she started over. This time, she put more force into the strokes. The pain was more insistent. He barely had time to process each stroke before the next one fell. He let his mind surf the waves of pain instead of fighting it. Let it wash over him, cleansing him. It was her gift to him, and he was happy to receive it.

The next time she started over, each stroke drew a soft cry of pain from Dean. He let them come. They were his gift to her, willingly given. She took it all from him; his cries of pain, his will, his control. She left him with nothing. Nothing but her. 

She started over again. He could feel the welts left behind on his flesh. He savored each one like a badge of strength. All that existed was her, and the pain she chose to give him. The tails of the flogger bit into his skin, slicing across already sensitive flesh like lines of fire. 

Dean was too far gone to hear the flogger drop to the floor. He felt the difference when she touched him, her nails scratching across the welts left behind by the flogger. Surely she was drawing blood? He refrained from looking, preferring to stay in the darkness behind his closed eyelids. 

Then she took that from him as well.

“Look at me.” Her command was spoken in a soft whisper, but he recognized it for what it was.

His eyes opened, blinking against the dim light of the room to adjust to the brightness. His gaze settled on her, drinking her in like a man starving. The slight curve of her eyebrows. The shimmering highlights in her hair brought out by the soft light in the room. The look of complete control in her eyes. The way the corners of her mouth curled up in a slight smile of satisfaction. The way the leather hugged her curves, like a second skin. The way she was so completely comfortable in this situation, as she was in any situation. She commanded the room, no matter where she went. Even when she was silently observing, she was so clearly in command.

Her fingers wrapped around his cock. Slick with lube, they squeezed and teased, stroked and coaxed, until he was hard and throbbing in her hand. Suspended as he was, it was difficult to draw a deep breath. His chest heaved, his lungs struggling to keep up. She gave him pain, to cleanse his soul. Now she gave him pleasure, to claim it, once more, as her own. It had belonged to her since the first time they met, but she enjoyed reinforcing her claim. Dean enjoyed it too.

She alternated between raking her nails down his chest and belly, painting lines of burning pain on his skin, and teasing his cock. In spite of the pain, she pushed him inexorably toward the edge. Toward bliss. 

Dean watched her. She had told him to look at her, and so he did. He saw the joy in her eyes each time she drew a sound from him, whether from pleasure or pain. He saw her lips part, her tongue flicking out to wet them, leaving them shining in the low light. He wanted to kiss those lips, feel them mold to his, feel her tongue invade his mouth, caress his own. That thought, combined with her touch, drew a low moan from him.

She looked into his eyes while her fingers closed on his nipple. Her grip tightened, pinching, twisting. The whole time she kept stroking his cock, her eyes on his. He let himself drown in her eyes, float away on the love he saw there. The pain was inconsequential in light of that. Nevertheless, his body reacted, a strangled whimper falling from his lips.

She stepped in closer, her skin cool against his. He was covered in a sheen of sweat, droplets trickling from his hairline down his face and on down his body. He was so close. She had brought him right to the edge and kept him balanced there, never giving him enough to take that final step.

Dean gasped for breath, so close, all he needed was a little nudge, just a little more stimulation. His hips tried to thrust into her touch, but he had no leverage. She whispered teasing encouragement, telling him he could come if he could get there, then denying him the stimulation. Gasping breaths became sobs, whimpered pleas for mercy. All in vain. 

Her hands vanished from his body. Without even reflecting that he was disobeying her direct command, his eyes closed and his head thumped back against the post. Without warning, the flogger returned. Full force strikes fell on his already welted skin. Pleasure forgotten, Dean let the cries of pain come. Ragged and choked, they fell from his lips. Wordless sounds that she took from him at will. Because she was in control and he had to endure.

When the strokes ceased for a moment, he was too lost in the lingering pain that burned his flesh to even notice the cold steel locked around his cock and balls. The sound of the padlock closing was so small in comparison to the rushing of blood in his ears that it did not even register.

Then the pressure on his wrists lessened, his feet finally finding solid support. His arms ached when she slowly lowered them from their raised position. Her fingers gently rubbed the strained muscles, helping to stimulate blood flow back into the abused limbs. Eyes still closed, he felt the lip of the water bottle and opened his mouth. The thought flitted across his mind that he must look like a starving baby bird, accepting her gift of water. Or like a devotee receiving a sacrament from his Goddess. It was appropriate. She was his Goddess. 

He leaned on her while she helped him to the fainting couch nearby. He wanted to laugh, irrationally, at the suddenly apt piece of furniture. He did feel like he might pass out. He felt light-headed, drunk on her. 

Her breath on his face was his only warning before he felt her lips press against his. It was a gentle kiss, chaste, lips closed. It was more intimate than sex. Her fingers brushed through his damp hair, nails lightly scratching his scalp. If he were able, he would be purring like a cat. His body felt limp. Spent. His mind buzzed with emotions. 

“Love you.” His words were slurred, as if he was actually drunk.

“I know,” she replied. “Sleep.”

He felt himself drift into unconsciousness, almost against his will. His eyelids fluttered. He wanted so badly to look at her. He felt her hand on his cheek, then he was gone.

She caressed his face, watching him fall asleep. They would talk once he woke up.


End file.
